Summer
by Jan Q
Summary: This summer like all the summers before, she would take Harley and the babies with her over to Robinson Park where they would spend the days together swimming out at the lake. Femslash


Harley Quinn hums softly to herself as she gently sprays the orchids with a light mist of fine water droplets. Unlike some people it didn't take a doctorate degree in Botany for her to know that growing tropical exotics in Gotham with its dry scorching summers and cold wet winters was a frustrating exercise in futility unless of course you happened to have green skin, red hair and went by the unusual name of Poison Ivy.

Surveying her work with a big grin, Harley carefully examines the leaves and stems of one of those precious plants for any signs of black rot or fungus. It would never do if one of them fell sick on her watch. She would never live it down. She was after all a doctor with a medical degree of sorts - although long since struck off the rolls - but old habits die hard.

"Drink up guys," Harley coos as she deftly turns a series of complicated summersaults in the narrow vertical space of the jungle fringed greenhouse. Harley liked keeping busy when she did the watering.

It was just past four in the morning and in another hour or so the sun would be breaking over the horizon like some big old happy fried egg, all runny yellow and greasy. There was plenty "o" time to get ready for their big day out, make breakfast for Bud and Lou – a hyena's gotta eat when a hyena's gotta eat - and still do some warm up sets on her balancing beam.

Quickly finishing up with the last of the prized ghost orchids Harley turns her ever nimble body and thoughts to other more pressing issues of the day. The last time she looked – 6 minutes and thirty eight seconds ago to be exact – Pamela Isley was still in bed gently sleeping tug in snug like a bug under the blankets like a big white cocoon.

Harley knew Pammy wasn't an early morning person, she was a sun person. Pammy was happiest when the sun was high in the sky bright and shinning and the Green was alive and singing. Pammy was like summer – hot, smothering and intense - and summer was Gotham's high season as far as Harley Quinn was concerned.

It was definite better than Christmas – and that was because someone would never let her have a tree not even a small tinsel one. It had as Harley understood something to do with a mad campaign of botanical genocide that gripes the country every December.

It was much much better than New Year's at the Ice Berg Lounge - Mista J always drank too much and ended up crying into Harvey Dent's lapels - about how someone or other didn't die all at once - hours before the screaming stopped - almost didn't get to sleep that night - that was the last time he'd used crushed glass…blah blah blah.

It was even better than Halloween despite all the candy you could eat and all the cars you could toilet paper.

Summer was watermelon and fireworks and swimming out at Robinson Park and running bare footed through the grass with the babies and scaring the shit out of the park rangers and weenies cooked outdoors on a portable gas stove because someone didn't approve of carbon emissions from charcoal fires.

Barely suppressing her glee, Harley takes a flying leap and jumps clear of the work bench covered with a plenitude of glass ware filled with iridescent fluids. On days like these she feels like a million smackers and no loose change.

Running down the dim corridor, she pops her head around the door of a darken room, and spies the still form of her friend huddled beneath the covers.

Harley loves looking at Pammy when she's asleep; there was an unspoken tenderness that transfigured that fine boned face with its thick long lashes in slumber that she found magical. Harley thought Pammy beautiful when she wasn't worried and preoccupied with matters of grave importance because that was what you did if you were an eco terrorist of global standing - that and ranting a lot.

The other best thing about summer was that it was also that time of the year when Pammy kicked that big old chip off her shoulder and took time to smell the roses. It worried Harley that she worked too hard and played too little.

Leaning carefully forward, Harley lightly kisses her sleeping friend. She loves discovering the soft sensuality of that delicious mouth when it isn't warped in a perpetual frown.

"….mmmmmmm……. " the tousled redhead murmurs sleepily as she slowly opens her eyes.

"Good morning, Red," Harley smiles as her laughing baby blues greet those still dreamy emerald greens, "You wanna rise and shine?"

"What time is it?" Pamela asks still very much asleep curious but strangely not annoyed at being woken way before time.

"Early the sun ain't out yet I misted your orchids don't get mad I didn't break anything I misted them good like I saw you doing yes I checked for black patches I pay attention I ain't stupid Red what swim suit should I bring the green one or the blue one I like the one with black and red checks but I know you like the green one better the black red one okay Red anything you say Red I know what you like do you want breakfast what would you like hot water I can do hot water Mista J said I did the best hot water ever I need do …."

Wordlessly with a knowing smile Pamela reaches out and tenderly puts her finger across Harley's lips dissolving the string of her jumbled thoughts. There would be lots of time later to listen to the laughter and patter of harlequins and hyenas. It was after all summer time again at long last.

This summer like all the summers before, she would take Harley and the babies with her over to Robinson Park where they would spend the days together swimming out at the lake. While Bud and Lou busied themselves terrorizing picnickers and running away from angry park guards, Harley would splash and dive in the cold green water and watch as her best friend forever lazily stretch out those impossibly long legs and settle down on a warm grassy patch with her summer reading; naked under the blazing sun but for a pair of wrap around shades and her Manolos – old habits die hard.

Wordlessly with a deepening smile that pierces with its intimacy, Harley Quinn crawls back into the warm inviting bed.

"Did you feed those hyenas of yours?' Pamela asks as she nests her head sleepily into the crock of Harley's shoulders.

"Naaaaa........too early....." Harley replies as she runs her hands through that red hair, "....thinking you might wanna eat first."

"…mmmmm…" Pamela purrs in her sleep – she's thinking she needs to moderate the dosage of Harley's formula; the girl was getting too strong for her own good - as she feels those lithe legs wrap themselves around her pulling her tight into those waiting arms and sucking her, them together deep down under the covers with a giggle.


End file.
